


New Handler

by VYCanisMajoris



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, It isn't explicitly stated but it is alluded to, Past Child Abuse, Tony isn't Iron Man, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, so i tagged it in case, young Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-06 16:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10339710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VYCanisMajoris/pseuds/VYCanisMajoris
Summary: For a Tumblr Prompt:Prompt: winter soldier abducts Tony to be his new handler and falls for him





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Marvel Entertainment. Any writing is completely fan-made and I make no profit from this writing.
> 
> This is an idea that I may or may not expand...

The Asset wakes up in a room filled with light. He keeps his eyes shut, face calm, and breathing regular, though the usual slivers of fear make their way through his chest. He’s gone through this countless times. He wakes up, sits still, and waits for his Handler to bring him to the chair for recalibration. It will hurt, and he will scream, so they’ll dial it up to teach him silence. 

This time is different, however, as the light isn’t harsh and cutting, but soft. The room is warm, not freezing cold, and the soft clatter of what sounds like cooking reaches his ears. His eyes flash open, adapting immediately to the lights, and he takes in the scene in front of him. A man moves around the brightly lit kitchen, talking to himself as he does so. He’s too young to drink with this century’s laws, short and unhealthily skinny, with large brown eyes that make the Asset want to… he’s not sure what he wants to do. 

The Asset stands up, flesh hand moving to the sheath on his uniform jacket, but he pauses. He’s no longer wearing his uniform. Instead, his chest is covered with bandages, some bloody and others clean. His uniform top is nowhere to be seen, so he takes a knife from his trousers instead and moves to the kitchen, silent and smooth.

He isn’t silent and smooth when the floorboard beneath his foot creaks, and the man spins around, a ladle in his hand. The Asset darts forward, moving faster than the man thought, as his eyes widen dramatically. He presses the knife against the man’s gut, not cutting but not comfortable, and closes his metal hand over the man’s mouth, keeping him quiet.  

The Asset looks around the kitchen, and, finding nothing other than cut-up vegetables and a pot full of something good-smelling on the stovetop, looks back to the man and, voice sounding like he swallowed several shards of glass and a generous amount of gravel, he says, “Explain.”

He removes his hand from the man’s mouth, and the man says, “I-I found you in the park, near the library? And, uh, you… were bleeding? Really bad, you had a few deeper wounds, and some superficial ones, and so, I uh, brought you here.” He gestures toward his small apartment, winces, and says, “Not in a ‘It puts the lotion on its skin’ sort of way, I promise, I just thought you needed help, and I thought that I’d, uh… help you?”

The Asset stares at the man for a moment, considering him. He asks, “Who do you work for?”

The man blinks, taken back by the question, and says, “Myself? I-I don’t have a job, per se, I just graduated college. I’m mostly coding, right now, and building.”

“Building what?”

“M-Mostly prosthetics, and some software, and yesterday I made a blender, but that was mostly a test for some of my new tools, though I could definitely make those if I needed to, but I prefer…” The man swallows, realizing that he was rambling, “S-Software.”

The Asset wants to smile, so he keeps his face deadly blank instead. “You work for no one?”

“Right.” The man nods quickly, curls flopping over into his face. 

“Name,” the Asset says, though he has no intention of using it. 

“T-Tony. Tony Stark.” 

The Asset stares at him a moment longer, brows furrowing the smallest degree. He knows that name, doesn’t he? It feels like he does, like there’s a small thread somewhere, hanging close enough to get the sense of but not close enough to feel, to pull and discover. 

The Asset mentally shakes away that line of thinking. He can’t be distracted, not now. He says, “Age.”

“Eighteen.”

“Real age.”

“I am eighteen!” The man says, suddenly indignant, “Just because everyone is weirdly tall doesn’t mean I’m weirdly short or young, you know.” 

The Asset doesn’t react to the outburst. He looks around the room again, and pauses, thinking. He doesn’t feel the stitches, though he’d like to. The man isn’t a doctor, that’s obvious from the stitches on the Asset’s chest, and the man isn’t old enough to be a doctor. They aren’t good enough to be an intern’s, either.

“The stitches.” 

The man looks down to the Asset's chest. “Do they need to be fixed? I tried my best, but… do you want to go to an actual doctor? I can bring you! I don’t have a car, I can’t really afford one, b-but there’s a hospital within a mile from here, so we could walk there, if you… want.”

“How.”

“T-To… walk?”

“You aren’t a doctor; how did you know?” The Asset gestures toward his chest, and the man nods quickly, realization dawning on his face. 

“I… got into a lot of-of accidents as a kid, so I went to the hospital a lot, and watched the nurses when they worked.”

“Lie.”

“W… What?”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.” The Asset nods, satisfied that he figured out something correctly, did something correctly, and he’s satisfied that the man had enough brains to try and lie. Before he can reply, the Asset asks, “Why did you help me?”

“What was I supposed to do? Leave you to bleed out in a park underneath a fucking bench?”

The Asset tilts his head, and says, “That isn’t an answer.”

The man’s face is red now, making his eyes seem even warmer, and the Asset pushes that thought away as well, not sure where it came from or why. “Why would I leave you there?”

“Why help?”

The man huffs out a sharp breath, and says, “I’m not a horrible person, I hope. That’s why.”

The Asset blinks, thinking it over, and finds that he likes the answer, and this person. This person is smart if they already graduated from college, has basic medical knowledge, and are kind. Yes, they can’t lie well, but he can help them with that. He likes the man, and he needs a Handler, so the decision is easy. 

“It’s the only one I’ve got, sorry stranger.” His Handler falls silent, then looks around and asks, “Can you remove the knife now? I promise I won’t do anything, other than ask a few questions, if that’s fine.”

“No.” The Asset replies, but he removes the knife and slides it back into the sheath on his trousers. “No questions.”

“Nope,” his Handler shakes his head, “Just one. What do I call you?”

The Asset pauses, frowns, and says, “Asset.”

His Handler’s face goes through a series of quick, acrobatic emotions, before settling into a complete lack of expression that impresses the Asset. Not many can hide their emotions from him. His Handler says, voice sharp, “That won’t work.”

The Asset blinks, then inclines his head. “The Asset is also called the Winter Soldier.”

His Handler’s face remains relatively blank, but his eyes widen. He’s heard the name before, and knows the importance of it. The Asset can’t decide if that is necessarily a bad thing. 

“Winter,” his Handler eventually says, voice so soft the Asset almost strains to hear, “How about Winter?”

The Asset nods, “Good.” He’s Winter, now, and he likes his new Handler. He likes his Handler a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking back as far as he can remember, back to when he ran away and lived on the streets, he realizes that only children have smiled at him. They were the only ones willing to smile at the dirty, silent man on the street. They were quickly pulled away by the parents, but Winter remembers the smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Marvel Entertainment. Any writing is completely fan-made and I make no profit from this writing.

Winter stares at himself in the mirror. The bruises on his face have already faded to faint, yellow smudges. He shifts the shirt his Handler gave him around, making it rest comfortably over the stitches. The amateur stitches worked well enough, so he should be able to take them out in the next day or so.

His hair is longer than usual, hanging around his jaw and brushing his neck. In the past, workers had cut it while he was put under, maintaining it so it wouldn’t interfere with his sight and, therefore, efficiency. After running, it grew out, and Winter never found the time, or reason, to cut it. It’s been helpful too, disguising his features better than other items he’s worn. 

A soft knocking catches his attention, and he leaves the bathroom, hand hovering over the handle of his knife, when his Handler calls, “Breakfast is ready, if you want some. It’s fine if you don’t! I just… thought you’d be hungry?”

His Handler falls silent for several long moments, and Winter listens as the floorboards creak while his Handler walks away. He stares at the door for several moments, thinking. That interaction was… confusing. Why did he sound so embarrassed? Was it Winter’s lack of response?

Winter opens the door and shuts it behind himself softly. Avoiding the creaky floorboards, those that he knows of, he enters the kitchen, which is still brightly lit and warm, just like the night before. His Handler is placing plates onto a table, when his Handler glances over to Winter and smiles, bright, soft, and happy. Winter blinks, confused by the reaction. 

Thinking back as far as he can remember, back to when he ran away and lived on the streets, he realizes that only children have smiled at him. They were the only ones willing to smile at the dirty, silent man on the street. They were quickly pulled away by the parents, but Winter remembers the smiles. He tries to smile back, but he can feel how tight and uneven the action is. He’s glad he can’t see himself; the smile feels threatening when it should be kind. Should it be this difficult to smile?

His Handler smiles even wider at him, making Winter’s chest start to tighten, and says, “Take a seat! I made pancakes. I hope you like them.” His Handler’s smile grows tentative, so Winter nods and sits down, following orders. 

His Handler sits opposite him, and starts putting food onto Winter’s plate. Winter watches him silently. His Handler has finished putting fruit onto Winter’s plate when he looks up at Winter, eyes wide, and asks, “Is that too much?”

Winter looks down at the plate piled high with food. Past Handlers gave him vitamin supplements and small rations when he was awake, only giving him larger meals when he was on assignment. He hasn’t had this much food in front of him in… he can’t remember how long. Winter shakes his head. He won’t pass up the opportunity to eat solid food. His Handler smiles again, showing teeth and gums, and Winter likes his choice. He picks up his knife and fork only after his Handler starts to eat. 

They eat in silence for several moments, Winter staring at his plate while his Handler glances up to him occasionally. Winter takes a small sip of his water, using his metal hand, and his Handler glances at the hand before returning to his food. Winter places his metal hand onto his lap, not sure what he should do. Past Handlers have had him hide it, while others haven’t cared. He needs to figure out what this Handler thinks about it, and soon. He doesn’t want to create a problem that he can avoid. 

His Handler starts to speak, saying, “You look a lot better than last night. It looks like the bruises have almost disappeared…”

Winter wants to tense up, but he doesn’t, remaining relaxed as he lifts his fork up to his mouth. 

His Handler continues, “I live alone, though sometimes my friends visit. They’re great! Rhodey was in aerospace engineering, but he’s with the air force with Carol now. Jan’s in a different state completely, working on a double major in business and design. They won’t be around for a while, though. They’re all pretty busy.”

His Handler falls silent, and Winter watches as his Handler begins to fidget, picking at chips in the silverware. So, his Handler doesn’t like the silence. That is… problematic. Silence is safe, it means no one has been found or seen. Sound, on the other hand, means people are near, are _angry_. 

Winter doesn’t like how his Handler fidgets and stares down at his own hands, so he says, “Family?”

His Handler looks up at that, blinking quickly, surprised that Winter has spoken. “My… family, uh. M-My aunts are really nice! Aunt Peggy is kickass. Sometimes I think she’s a spy. Aunt Angie likes to tell me that Peggy is, saying that Peggy fought in all these different wars and leads some secret government agency. Aunt Angie is pretty great.”

His Handler didn’t mention any parents, which raises questions, but Winter doesn’t ask. It isn’t his place to delve too deep. His Handler hasn’t reacted in an angry manner yet, but he doesn’t want to push, though he’s curious. 

“How about you?” His Handler asks, then pauses at Winter’s silence. “No questions, right. Sorry.”

Winter shakes his head slightly and says, “It’s fine. I… don’t have a… I don’t remember any.”

“Remember?” His Handler asks, eyes softening in a way that makes Winter’s heart hurt, “Do you… have you seen a doctor at all, about that? The missing memory?”  
“Medical assistance is used only when required.”

His Handler’s eyes narrow, becoming hard slits, and his Handler asks, “Who told you that?”

Winter thinks for a moment. He can’t remember the Handler’s name, he distantly remembers holding the Handler down and pulling a trigger and – no. He doesn’t want to remember that, so he pushes back on the memory, and gives a small shake of the head and says, “I don’t know.” 

His Handler’s eyes soften now, looking… sad? But why? His Handler changes the subject and asks, “Do you want more food?”

Winter looks down at his empty plate and shakes his head. Don’t take more than necessary, don’t ask for more, don’t look for more. Taking more is a waste when less will help you get by just as well. 

His Handler frowns, and a rush of cold moves through Winter. Should he have said yes? Was that a test? 

“Alright.” His Handler nods, and falls silent once more. 

Winter watches his Handler now, memorizing his face for the future. He’s had to retrieve Handlers before, when being put through training exercises. His Handlers would wear disguises, mask their features, to make it harder for him to find them, to test him harder, so knowing his Handler as well as he can now is for the best.

“I…” his Handler starts again, then clears his throat. “If you don’t have anywhere else to stay, since you, you know, don’t really… remember anyone else, do you?”

Winter shakes his head, and his Handler continues, “You can stay here, then, if-if you want.”

Winter blinks. He thought that was already decided, but pauses. Maybe his Handler hasn’t realized what being a Handler means. It’s obvious this isn’t normal for his Handler, so why did he give Winter a new name? Offer him a new life and place to stay? 

Winter asks, “Why?”

His Handler’s face goes still, then the smile fades away. His Handler looks around, eyes tight, and says, “I know I don’t have a-a really nice place, but I thought that if you needed to you could stay here. I know it isn’t… isn’t…”

“No,” Winter shakes his head, “Why offer?”

The empty look disappears and his Handler smiles now, small and soft and sad, and says, “I… haven’t had the easiest time either. I-I understand not having a place to stay. One of my friends, Rhodey, the aerospace engineer, gave me a place to stay, so I just thought that… I, uh, I get it, the feeling like there’s nowhere for you to go or-or no way you can belong, so you can stay, if-if you want.”

Winter’s chest starts to hurt again, listening to his Handler, and maybe he _should_ take his Handler up on the offer to see a doctor, if this keeps happening. 

Winter nods, his Handler smiles that bright smile again, and Winter returns it, more easily this time. His Handler is very hesitant. A trait like that would be eradicated by his old Handlers, but… Winter likes the gentleness of his new Handler. It’s nice in a way Winter isn’t used to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter looks down at his shirt. It’s tight on him, enough that when his Handler saw him in it, his Handler’s eyes went wide and his face heated up to a bright pink, but it covers him. Winter likes the pressure of the shirt, too. It’s reassuring – comforting, even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to Marvel Entertainment. Any writing is completely fan-made and I make no profit from this writing.

“Why are we here?” Winter asks, emboldened by the fact that his Hander hasn’t reprimanded him for asking numerous questions before.

“To get you clothing,” his Handler says, holding a shirt up to Winter’s chest. His Handler stares at him for a moment, making Winter want to fidget (he doesn’t), before shaking his head. “Not your colour.” 

Winter nods, not sure what that means but not really caring either, and follows his Handler through the shop. 

“You need new clothing, since your old stuff isn’t in the-the best shape, and my clothing doesn’t really fit you.” 

Winter looks down at his shirt. It’s tight on him, enough that when his Handler saw him in it, his Handler’s eyes went wide and his face heated up to a bright pink, but it covers him. Winter likes the pressure of the shirt, too. It’s reassuring – comforting, even. 

“Is there anything you want specifically? Like a style, or a colour, or…” his Handler falls silent, then gestures toward the entirety of the store, “Anything? I know there isn’t a-a wide selection, but the clothing’s good! It lasts.” 

Winter nods, scanning the store. He’s already done a quick perimeter check, and looks over whoever enters the store when they enter, but it never hurts to be safe, especially with a Handler as new as his. It isn’t bad, his Handler’s newness to this. It’s actually nice, seeing as how his Handler hasn’t taken advantage of the power to punish him.  
But danger comes with it as well, so Winter needs to compensate for the danger. 

Winter looks back to his Handler, who stares up at him, and says, voice quiet, “I like blue.”

“Great!” His Handler smiles and starts to walk through the store, stopping occasionally to look through a rack. Winter follows him. His Handler talks as they walk, saying, “I started coming here a year ago. One of my friends, Jan, pointed it out. She doesn’t need to shop here, she can go to the more expensive places, but she likes the people, and she pays a lot more than the owners ask for, so it all works out.”

“Where is she?”

“Jan? She’s at her parents’ home right now. It’s summer break, so everyone is home. Rhodey and Carol are still deployed, though, so technically they aren’t.”

“And you?” 

His Handler’s face goes blank, making Winter’s heart slow. He spoke out of line, he shouldn’t have done, that, and now he’ll be punished and-

“I don’t stay with my parents. Not anymore.”

Winter stares at his Handler. Lips pinched, eyes oddly calm, and fingers tapping a beat into his hip, his Handler is uncomfortable. Winter says, “I… I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?” His Handler looks up to Winter, eyes wide, and shakes his head, “Oh, no. It’s fine. It’s… it’s all fine. Just family problems, you know? No, you wouldn’t, I… yeah.” His Handler sighs, looking back to the shirts, and says, “You’re quiet a lot more now, aren’t you? You asked a lot of questions when you first woke up, but now you stay pretty silent.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” 

Winter frowns at that, but says nothing against his Handler. His Handler smiles, fake brightness shining, and looks around himself. They start walking again, his Handler picking up shirts and pairs of pants. 

Winter stays close, until his Handler holds out a pile of clothing and says, “Look these over. The owners don’t let you try stuff on here, but you can check it all, make sure they’re close to what you want, and-and all that.”

He nods, taking the clothing, and starts looking through it all. His Handler picked out good clothing. The shirts look like they’ll fit, and he can always fix them if they don’t. He looks up to his Handler and says, “They’re good.”

His Handler smiles. It’s unnerving, how much his Handler smiles. Not in a bad way, but a way he isn’t used to. His Handler does a lot of things he isn’t used to. He smiles, laughs, cooks, and talks. He talks a _lot_. Winter’s growing to like the talk, though. It means his Handler is fine. 

“Alright?”

Winter blinks, then looks down to his feet. No. Oh no. He didn’t listen. He should have been _listening_ , but no. He wasn’t. He was being _stupid_ and _useless_ and-

“Are you okay, Winter?” His Handler asks, reaching out but not quite touching Winter’s elbow. 

He gives a jerky nod, not liking the worry in his Handler’s eyes. His Handler asks, “Do you want to leave? We can get the clothing another time.”

No. No. He can’t be more of a burden. He can’t make this Handler, the kind, smiling, laughing Handler, want to get rid of him. “I’m fine.”

His Handler raises a brow. “I can tell when someone’s freaking out. I do that enough myself to see it.”

“I’m fine.”

“Winter. It’s okay if you aren’t. I don’t know what got you half-dead and unconscious underneath a park bench, but I’d be freaking out afterwards too. I’ll go buy this stuff, mostly because you need clothing that isn’t bloody and torn, and you can go outside and get some air.”

Winter blinks quickly. He glances at the door, then at his Handler, then to the ground again. He doesn’t want to leave his Handler, so he says, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Winter doesn’t know how to answer that. This is something that’s always been. He stays with the Handler when they’re in an unfamiliar, possibly threatening area, and only leaves in safe areas that he’s completed a perimeter on. 

“Alright.” His Handler smiles again, reassuring and soft, “Come with me.” 

Winter nods, exhaling in relief, and follows his Handler to the cash register. The woman there nods at them, takes the clothing, and starts to ring it up. Winter watches her, taking in the stooped posture, wrinkles around her eyes, and calloused hands. Not a threat. 

His Handler glances up to him occasionally, offering a smile that makes the stone in Winter’s gut heavier and heavier with… he isn’t sure with what. The woman finishes ringing them up, slides the clothing into a bag, and hands it to his Handler, who takes it and says, “Thank you.”

The woman nods, looks at Winter, who doesn’t meet her gaze, and says, “Have a nice day.”

He nods, and his Handler says, “You too!”

The woman looks back to her work, and Winter follows his Handler from the store. The door rings as it shuts behind them, and Winter sucks in the fresh air. “Fresh” meaning “Not stale.” 

His Handler nods, and says, “I get it. Sometimes there’s just too much, you know?”

He nods, and his Handler says, “You hungry? We can get food, if you want.”

“Sure,” Winter says, voice soft and scratchy. His Handler nods, and they walk down the street. Winter walks close to his Handler, hand brushing against his Handler’s elbow as they move. He puts some space between them, not wanting to annoy his Handler. 

They pass several pairs and groups of people, who chat to each other, pausing in their talking to watch Winter and his Handler as they walk. Winter doesn’t mention the people, but his Handler looks up at Winter and asks, “Do people stare at you a lot?”

Winter furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” his Handler gestures toward Winter’s torso, face turning pink, “Cause you’re, you know.” 

Winter stares at his Handler, thoroughly confused, while his Handler turns to stare straight ahead, face pink and ears starting to match. Winter doesn’t say anything, but he stops putting space between himself and his Handler, letting himself enjoy the closeness.


End file.
